Songs by Robert Burns

Bob Hay & the Jolly Beggars song book

Awa, Whigs, awa!

C
Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair
F
and bonnie bloom'd our roses.
C G Am
The Whigs cam' like a frost in June,
C G Am
An' wither'd all our posies.
C
Awa, Whigs, awa!
F
Awa, Whigs, awa!
C G Am
Yer but a pack o' traitor louns,
F E Am
Ye'll do no good at all.
The sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving:
The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse,
An' we hae done wi' thriving.
Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust -
De'il blin' them wi' the stoure o't!
An' write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.
Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him wauken:
Gude help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!
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De'il = devil
stoure = dirt
maukin = rabbit